The Price of Freedom
by Domon Kasshu
Summary: [G1AU, PreArk] War changes everyone. For Red Alert and Inferno, sole survivors of Omicron VII, those changes may shatter their lifelong friendship. Will it keep them from learning the truth behind the outpost's destruction?
1. A Fateful Race

The Price of Freedom

_Author's Note: This story is based around an AU I'm currently working on, so while there are a lot of similarities to G1, any conflict with continuity is completely intentional. Hopefully, that won't lessen your enjoyment of the story. This one is dedicated to two certain Trans-fans I know, who in turn made me a huge fan of my narrator, and to Scopeshot, whose "Hat Trick" shorts helped to inspire this one. _

Freedom!

Primus, it felt wonderful, the wind ripping through my fins, the ground hurtling by outside. How long had I been stuck in that outpost? At least a week and a half, maybe more. Staring at monitors all day, keeping tabs of enemy reports, and coming to the slow realization that no one cared about a backwater security station like ours. Finally, Commander Granen relieved us, and my engine almost burst from the chassis in excitement. Sure, it came with the usual warnings of not wandering too far. He lived in perpetual, paranoid fear of a Decepticon attack that never came.

"Race you two," I said, transforming and cutting across the barren landscape nearby. This quadrant of Cybertron remained free of anything of interest. No power plants, no factories, no raw materials of any use. Just a religious site and untouched ground, ground that made the perfect place for racing.

"Redline, yer not gonna win this time!" Blaze called out from behind, revving his engine. Despite his bulk, he could move pretty well in that frame. Not enough to catch me. I longed for the day the war would end, and I could put my speed to the test against the faster Autobots who manned the more dangerous outposts around Iacon.

"Feh, you're going to blow yourselves out early," Pyre called from the back. Despite his sleek frame and incredible speed, the third member of our trio preferred to hold back, pacing himself for the long run.

Commander Granen called us the Decagon Three, and held high hopes that one day we would be important members of the Autobot army. As much as we frustrated and tortured the old mech, he loved the three of us. He even cracked a smile or two when I razzed him about his obsessive security protocols.

I, on the other hand, expected the war to end any day and life to return to normal. After all, with the emergence of Sentinel Prime, Megatron's forces were being driven back daily. We would win. And then, life would get back to normal.

--

I knew Blaze from the day I took on my first alt mode. We both dreamed of the way we would join in the Cybertron Endurance, the grueling race that ran across Iacon and into the Torus state. The race took a deca-cycle and a half to complete, and everyone had their own favorite speedster. Both Blaze and I rooted for the reckless underdog Wheeljack in the the 486th Endurance, and celebrated as hard as anyone when he won against all odds.

We started racing against each other, modifying our alt modes for greater speed and endurance. Blaze, programmed as a transport mech first, had more trouble, but slagged if he didn't work through it. He became a challenge every time we raced, and even picked up a few wins. As a courier, though, my advantage was almost insurmountable.

I remember the day we heard Wheeljack himself was coming to Decagon. We camped out at the Central Pavilion the night before, vowing to be the first in line. It was there we met Pyre, a fellow race fan. While he preferred the calculated, methodical style of Wheeljack's chief rival, Sunstreaker, we still hit it off instantly. By the time we had holographs snapped off with the champ, who thanked us for our support, we left with a new friend.

Pyre started modifying his form the same as us, though his enhancements opted for endurance over pure speed. A vorn of trial and error later, and local titles to all our credit, we were ready to compete in our first Endurance.

Megatron had other plans.

As his revolution ripped through Cybertron, even tiny cities like Decagon felt the pressure. Local Autobot leaders tried to put together their own militias, while Megatron and his army continued to ravage Iacon and the surrounding areas. In time, the three of us signed on, joining the Deacgon militia. When Sentinel Prime assumed command of the Autobots and became to pressure Megatron, we were reassigned to Omicron VII, a border outpost of little interest, unless you're crazy about the Covenant of Primus.

I never understood the decision, but it provided tremendous race opportunities. None of us complained.

--

I swerved around a corner, Blaze still right behind. I gunned my engine, dodging piles of debris that got regularly dumped in the far reaches. Against Cybertronian law, of course, but who was going to fine for littering in the middle of a war? It gave us great obstacle courses, anyway.

"Redline," Blaze said, his voice crackling over the comm, "We're gettin' a bit far out. Maybe we should turn back?"

"Don't tell me the old man's gotten to you, too."

"He did say--"

"Pheh, whatever. Do you see any Seekers in the sky?"

"No."

"'Line's right, Blaze," Pyre chimed in. "There's no harm in us wandering around a little bit."

Blaze sighed over the comm, and I chuckled. I could see him becoming just as bad as old "False Alert" Granen one day.

I swung around another wall of debris, kicking up some of the smaller pieces as I zoomed by. My engine wasn't even taxed, and Blaze fell further behind. _Keep your mind on the race, buddy,_ I thought as we continued. I had no idea how much further out we might go, or whether we--

The ground disappeared below me, a chasm I never saw in the fading light. I crashed hard into the canyon wall, then fell to the ground below. I transformed and tried to break my fall in my arms, but the move altered my path. I hit hard, one arm smashing below the weight of my body. I cried out, and instantly knew the crash did a fair share of internal damage, as well.

"Primus! Redline, you okay?" Blaze called down.

"No... my diagnostic computer appears to be shaken up a bit, on top of everything else." I let my head fall back against the ground.

"Smooth move," Pyre said as he approached the edge of the cliff, but I saw a good amount of concern etched on his face. "Hold on a sec, we'll be down--"

"We need to get help," Blaze said. "If he's damaged that bad, we'll need someone to stabilize him."

"Are you saying we just leave him here?" Pyre frowned. "Besides, I don't want Granen biting my head off because of this. I'm sure we can help..."

"Blaze is right, Pyre. I'll go into statis and conserve power. Bring back a medic, and everything'll be fine."

"Maybe I should stay here," Pyre said.

"Don't tell me you're going Granen, too. Nothing's going to happen. Get back to the outpost, you two. You didn't do anything wrong. Just blame me... like you always do."

Blaze clasped one hand on Pyre's shoulder, and the two walked away. As they did, I let my systems shut down, hoping it wouldn't take them long to get me out of there.

--

My systems came back online seven mega-cycles later. I first felt the strange sensation of being in the air. Bright lights hung overhead, and I realized I was in a medbay. It wasn't the Omicron VII medbay, however. Too new, too small. As I tried to take in my surroundings, I heard a voice from behind.

"Thank Primus, you're awake."

I looked back to see a boxy red and white mech with a large black chevron in his head, staring down at me. It took a minute to realize that the small bay was filled with other diagnostic tables. Most were covered with white sheets.

"Wh-where am I?"

"Emergency Medical Vehicle _Wayfarer_. We came as soon as we heard about the attack."

"A-attack?"

"You didn't know?" The medic sighed, leaning back against one wall. "Kid, Megatron attacked Omicron VII. We entrusted some sensitive information to the base commander, and--"

"Granen! Is he..."

The medic said nothing at first, but his expression gave away the answer. "Granen didn't give up the information, even when Megatron leveled the base around him. We found what was left of him in the ruins."

My optics shuttered as I thought back to the kind old mech, optic fluid sliding down the sides of my face. "How many... how many made it...?"

"You and one other," the medic continued. "Though I'm not sure he's going to make it, either. We're getting him back to our intensive care facilities in Iacon, but I worry we'll have to put him into an entirely new body. And spark transfers are never sure things."

I remained silent a good long while as my optics fell on the shattered form nearby. Missing all of his limbs and most of his chest armor, Blaze's optics were hollow, his spark kept online only by a bevy of machinery around him.

"If there's anything I can do to help him..."

"There's not much that can be done at the moment. But trust me, I'm gonna try as hard as I can to make sure we don't lose him."

"I... I wasn't there. I should have been, but I wasn't. Granen was always scared of an attack. We called him paranoid, joked about him. We never knew..."

"Don't blame yourself. If you _had_ been there, you might not be here right now. Just try and relax."

Easier said than done. After all, I survived only because I was reckless, because I disobeyed orders and abandoned my post. As the carrier moved back and the doctor worked on my comrade, my mind considered the debt I must now pay, the penance for surviving when so many others did not.

--

"Hey hey," a voice called out from the doorway. "Ratchet finally let me get outta there, so I guess I'm good to go."

"That is good to hear, Blaze." My optics never shifted from the monitor in front of me.

"Heh, that name don't fit no more, really." I heard him walk closer, and then pull up the chair next to me. "Doc suggested Inferno. Says it matched the new body and weapon systems a little closer."

"It works."

"So, when do ya get off shift? We got times to catch up on, and things to do. Wonder if this new body can beat ya in a race."

I finally turned my head from the monitors. "I'm through racing, Bl... Inferno."

"What the heck are ya saying? Yer not giving up on it that easily, are ya?"

"For one, racing is far too dangerous, with the thread of Decepticon attack. Secondly, I have a lot more monitoring to do."

"Yer kidding. Used to be, you couldn't wait to escape guard duty."

I sighed. I wanted to race, to feel the wind through the fins of my alt mode, the thrill of the ground rushing by below. But I had a debt to pay, my very spark committed to making sure a tragedy like Omicron VII would never happen again.

"So, when ya getting off shift?"

I looked back to the monitors, checking for every detail that the others might miss. I couldn't fail them. "Not for a while."

The larger mech stood up, shaking his head, and rested one hand on my shoulder. "Okay, I understand. But whatever you do, don't make this your life, Redline."

"I'm not sure I have a choice," I said, and glanced back at him one more time. "And the name is Red Alert."


	2. Transitions

_A/N: This chapter switches to Inferno's point of view. I'll probably continue the PoV shifts between chapters to get the whole story out. I hadn't intended to continue this one, but I guess I got convinced otherwise. _

Walking. You never think about it. From the time you get placed into a frame, instinct takes over. Processors and relays just snap to attention, everything comes together and you walk. Some species, organics mostly, have trouble walking. But never Cybertronians. We just walk, without any problems.

As I fell to one knee, I tried to remember that.

Problem was, my spark _knew_ my old frame. Every nuance, every little quirk, they became part of me. Now, they were gone. My old frame rested in a scrap yard somewhere, damaged beyond all hope of repair. And now, I stood in this new thing. Boxy. Bulky. Unfamiliar. Ugly.

Primus, I hated it.

I never wanted Redline... no, Red Alert... to see the discomfort I felt when I visited him. I never understood the burden he placed on himself. Did he really think his injury made a difference? The Decepticon attack wasn't a battle, it was a massacre. I got cut down before I even realized what happened. Pyre charged forward, and I never saw him again. The Autobots who found us never found his body. Megatron vaporized it, they said.

Me and Red. The only survivors. Yet I wondered if we really survived. No matter what became of us, Redline and Blaze died at Omicron VII. In their place was a mech that looked nothing like his old self, and a mech that _acted_ nothing like his old self.

I fell again, this time one hand jutting out in time to prevent me from falling flat on my face. Embarrassing.

"Inferno? Are you sure you don't need a hand?"

"I'm fine," I replied, adding as much of an edge to my voice as I could. I didn't need any help, especially not from Ratchet's hand-picked nursemaid. The femme stood a few feet in front of me, arms folded across her chest, optics narrowed.

"You're a lousy liar," Firestar said.

"When I need yer help, I'll ask fer it."

"No you won't," she said, huffing a bit as she took a few steps back. "Ratchet's stuck me with hard cases like you before. I'll bet you even played the tough guy act when they found you."

"Fer yer information," I said, irritation at her condescending tone giving me strength, "I know my limits. And I know that I ain't ever gonna be a help to anyone else if I can't walk more'n a few steps without cryin' out to some naggy femme."

"Your gratitude is overwhelming."

"And yer faith in me is inspirin'," I shot back.

"You know, once you master this new frame, if Prowl can focus that excess anger of yours toward the Decepticons, you might be an asset to this army after all."

"Feh, what would ya know about it?"

Firestar came closer, and patted me on the shoulder. "Let me ask you something, flames. Do you really think I'm here because I like the medical facilities?"

My optics shuttered as I thought about the question. "I figured ya were an assistant to Ratchet."

"Not by choice," she said, her voice lowering slightly.

"Then what do ya--"

She smacked my arm, hard enough to feel it. "You wouldn't care about the concerns of a naggy femme, I'm sure. Maybe if you mind your manners in the future, I'll tell you."

--

Wheeljack. I sat across the table from _Wheeljack._

"This seat taken?" he asked, a larger, red and silver mech trailing behind him, both carrying mugs of high grade energon. I managed to shake my head, somehow, though nothing came out of my vocalizer. He cocked his head to one side as he studied me, then his headfins flashed as he let out an amused chuckle.

"Inferno. You must be Inferno."

"Ya heard of me...?"

He laughed again. "Primus, a day don't go by when Ratchet doesn't hear complaints from that cute little femme he paired ya with."

"Ya mean that annoying one that always--"

"Careful," the other mech said. "Yer not about to say somethin' bad about one of Chromia's best friends, are ya?"

He looked older, and not nearly as tall as me. Still, I got a sense making him angry would be a bad idea.

"No, sir."

"Don't be so formal," he said with a smile. "We're off duty. Name's Ironhide."

"Inferno." I shook his hand.

"And my drinkin' buddy here is Wheeljack... though I imagine he thinks his fame from the old racin' days means everyone should know."

I did, of course, but didn't say a word.

"Yer one of the two that survived Omicron, ain't ya?"

"Yes si... yes. Me and Red Alert."

"Heh, prime example of how war changes people," Wheeljack said. "I actually met that kid once, him and a few of his pals. Wanted to be a racer one day, and slag if that kid didn't have the stuff for it. Now... slag, it's tough to get two words outta the guy if they aren't related to base security."

"He's a good mech," I said, uncomfortable with the conversation.

"No kiddin'!" Wheeljack chuckled. "One week on base, and he's rewired the entire base security system. Kid found holes I never woulda even thought to look for. Plus he's adding all kinds of sensors to his systems. Crazy stuff. But he stays that high strung forever..."

"Aw c'mon, 'Jack, leave the shop talk outta this." Ironhide said as he finished off his mug of high grade. "I'm gonna get another. Whatta ya want, rookie?"

"Um, mid-grade would be fine."

"C'mon, high grade's on me."

"I try not to drink the heavy stuff," I said. I never tried high grade before, and I had no idea how the new body might accept it.

"Can ya get his high grade and give it to me?"

"Nice try, 'Jack."

"Had to give it a shot."

--

_"I'm through racing."_

Slag, good thing you had a choice. Wheeljack told the truth. Red had a future in racing. Damn war hadn't gotten involved, he might have been a contender for the Endurance. Me and Pyre could've joined his pit crew. Slag, maybe Pyre could have raced, too. I knew I'd never have a shot, but just the thrill of trying to beat them... that pushed me to levels I never even dreamed of.

This new form would never race. Important jobs lay ahead for it. Search and rescue was my new designation, and once I got the hang of the new body, I would be able to move into training for that. I could save lives. I'd be like the mechs that saved me and Red. A great destiny, heck of a job.

I wished, as I entered recharge for the night, that was enough to quiet the doubts in my mind.


End file.
